


War is Come Upon Us

by mydeira, Sadbhyl



Series: Responsible Adults (aka, The Menageaverse) [73]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:35:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadbhyl/pseuds/Sadbhyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giles is back, and all is right with the OT3.  And then the phone rings . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	War is Come Upon Us

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published August 4, 2005
> 
> Takes place far too soon after Voice of Authority (about a week or so). Mydeira hates this chapter. This is where the plot kicks in and the smut goes out the window.

There were times Joyce didn’t mind being caught between her lovers.

This was definitely one of them.

Dinner was over and the dishes cleared away. Buffy was out about her business for the evening, business which Joyce suspected involved checking in on the resident of the Sunnydale High School basement. Joyce didn’t pry. Upstairs, Dawn’s music faintly thumped as she worked on her homework. The change in school environments had worked a radical transformation in Dawn’s work habits. She hadn’t become a nerd by any stretch of the imagination, but she had become more attentive to her studies. The problems of last year seemed to have passed, an enormous relief for Joyce.

That left the three of them, Joyce, Rupert and Ethan, to a quiet evening alone. They were currently settled on the couch, the men on either end with Joyce curled up in the middle, quietly watching the news. Joyce leaned back against Rupert’s chest, enjoying the absent stroke of his hand over her hair as they listened to the commentator relating the current events in the Middle East. Ethan had relinquished pride of place fairly gracefully, drawing her feet up into his lap instead. “The view’s better from down here, anyway,” he snarked, but his gaze was warm as he studied them.

The combination of a full stomach, the soft drone of the television, Rupert’s warm embrace and the magical things Ethan’s hands were doing to her feet had a soporific effect on Joyce so that when the phone rang, she didn’t even flinch. Most of the calls these days were for Dawn, anyway. Let her answer it herself.

The phone stopped, and for a moment the peaceful harmony returned. Then Dawn’s door opened to release more of her music into the house as she came to the head of the stairs. Joyce had just started rousing herself when Dawn called down, “Giles! Phone!”

Joyce felt a frission of foreboding as Rupert gently untangled her from his arms. “Who would be calling you here?”

“I gave this number to a few people. It’s probably nothing.” But she could see the tension in his body as he rose to his feet to pick up the receiver on her desk. “This is Rupert Giles.”

Dawn’s music cut out entirely, and a moment later she came loping down the stairs, pulling her hair up out of the collar of her coat. “I’m going to go meet Kit and Carlos and some others at the Bronze,” she announced, pausing long enough in the doorway to get permission.

“Alright, honey,” Joyce agreed, only half paying attention, more focused on Rupert, who was now speaking into the phone with low intensity, his back to them. “Be home by eleven.”

“I will. Night, Mom. Night, Ethan.” She glanced at Rupert but didn’t interrupt.

“Good night,” Ethan called after her, but his focus also was on Rupert’s long back. It wasn’t until the door shut behind Dawn that he moved, rising to his feet with Joyce right behind him.

When Rupert hung up the phone, it was with an air of finality. He turned to them, obviously distracted. “I have to go,” he said, starting towards the front hall.

“What happened? Rupert!” Joyce pursued him into the foyer, Ethan following.

To her surprise, instead of leaving out the front door, he turned and went up the stairs, his firm, determined steps heavy on the treads.

Joyce and Ethan exchanged looks, his suspicious and hers worried, before they followed him up.

He had his suitcase open on the bed, quickly unloading his clothes from Joyce’s dresser and armoire into it. Joyce didn’t know whether to stop him or help him. He had just gotten back, but he seemed so intent . . .

“When you say go, you didn’t mean it lightly,” Ethan said, hands in his pockets as he rocked up on the balls of his feet. Joyce had learned to read that gesture far too well. He was as worried as she was.

“I have to go back to London,” Rupert mumbled, barely acknowledging their presence in the room. “If the Harrowing’s begun, I have to go. I have to find out . . .”

The tension was killing her. “Rupert, stop,” she demanded, putting a hand on his arm to reinforce her words. “Talk to us. What is this Harrowing? Why do you have to go?”

Her interference seemed to snap him back to reality. He studied her in surprise before sagging down onto the bed. “There are stories . . . a legend . . .” He pulled out his wire-rims and slipped them on, marking his transition to Watcher. It was a façade he rarely used with them, and Joyce knew it couldn’t signal anything good. “A prophesy really. That a power would arise to attempt to end the Slayer line by attacking it, not at the head, but at the roots. The direct line of the Chosen One would be shattered, never to be restored. For centuries the Watchers have been alert for this, guarding the Potentials even while they train them. At any given time, the Council has as many as two hundred girls identified, with several dozen under active training. The occasional girl, like Buffy, slips their notice, but for the most part they have managed to be vigilant. Until now.”

“It’s started?” Ethan asked quietly.

Rupert nodded. “Girls have started dying. Some in training, some not, some the Council wasn’t even aware of.”

“Was that them, then?” Joyce asked. “The Council?”

“Hardly. They would have no reason to communicate this to a retired Watcher and an independent Slayer.” The familiar bitterness tinged his voice. “No, that was Miranda from the coven in Devonshire. Their seer has been receiving visions. They were finally able to put together enough to know to contact me.”

“So what happens now?” She hesitated to ask, knowing the answer in her heart already.

“Now I need to get to England. We have to find out what the Council knows if we’re to be able to act against this.”

“They won’t give you anything,” Ethan reminded him.

Rupert’s expression became steely. “Which is why I’m going to have to steal it.”

“Do you want help?” The offer surprised Joyce, but seemed perfectly natural to the two of them.

“No. It will be easier for me to slip in on my own. It shouldn’t take me more than a few days.”

“Shouldn’t the Council be handling this themselves?” Joyce insisted.

“Joyce,” Rupert took her hands, meeting her eyes with grave determination, “you know Quentin Travers, the opinion he and the others have of themselves and of the Slayer. By the time they acknowledge anything is happening, it will already be too late.”

She wanted to argue with him, that he didn’t have to be the one to carry the weight of the Council’s responsibilities. But she knew he was right, and innocent girls would die if he didn’t go. Dropping his hands, she turned and crossed the hall into the bathroom, gathering his shaving kit from its discrete place in the commode, all the while fighting down the portentous fear she felt rising up to choke her. When she returned to the bedroom, Rupert and Ethan were conversing intently. She handed Rupert the kit. “Will we be safe here?”

He took it with a comforting smile. “As much as Sunnydale is ever safe. If this is the Harrowing, they will be after the Potentials, not the Chosen One.”

“But you’re walking into the middle of it, aren’t you?”

He seemed to know that there was no way he could reassure her. Instead, he pulled her into his arms and held her close, the consoling thump of his heart pulsing in her ear as he kissed the top of her head. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He released her, and she couldn’t do anything but watch as he zipped the suitcase closed and hefted it, heading for the door.

“Ripper.” Ethan stopped him to toss his cell phone over. Rupert caught it deftly before looking at it in surprise. “Stay in touch,” was all Ethan said.

Rupert closed his fingers over it with a gentle squeeze and a brief nod. “I will.” And then he was gone.

Joyce just watched the empty doorway for long moments, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. A moment later, Ethan was there, gathering her close, his arms strong and supportive, providing her strength to hold it together. “He’ll be back. Don’t worry.”

Her own arms wrapped around him, clinging to the security he offered. But much as she wanted to, she couldn’t obey his command. Worry seemed to have become a constant in her life now.


End file.
